


Being A Man

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Eames, Dom!Yusuf, Dom/sub, Dominance, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Puppy Play, Slash, Submission, collaring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames loves nothing more than being Yusuf's little dog. Yusuf just loves Eames. Puppyplay/Dom/Sub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being A Man

Disclaimer: I don't make any money from Inception.

 

**' _He who makes a beast of himself_ _, gets rid of the_** ** _pain of being a man.'_**

\- Samuel Johnson.

 

 

 

Somewhere between mythology and reality lies Eames's beauty.

Those round shoulders and bunched-muscle arms are gladitorial and dangerous.

His slicked, sharply parted hair is a dash of 30's Hollywood, precious and fuzzy-romantic.

The dark splashes of script and image which coil like ivy around his torso - those are pure present day. There's so much making him up he could be anything at all, which must be deliberate. Everything Eames is and does is deliberate surely, even the accidental things, like his endearing sneeze whenever there's dust, his long slow blink when his energy levels lag.

Currently he's sprawled on the rug in Yusuf's bedroom like the dog he so loves pretending to be, naked and smooth and lazy. Golden body, splashed with the hints of rosy pink at his nipples, his cock, his full mouth. The sunlight which streams in through the half-open curtain in a golden blanket only bathes his body, altering it from flesh to something transcendent, and Yusuf has to spare a scant minute just to marvel at all of this magical naked skin spread out for him to play with, just him. That's a marvel of its own, that for all the posturing this body belongs to him alone, was given freely and completely. Of all the gifts ever given to him, only this one deserves to be treasured. Trust, love, even devotion from the man who calls them _dead languages_ , flicking a poker chip over his knuckles like a warning.

Yet he does love, Yusuf knows this. He simply goes to a lower place so that he might express it.

As he carefully shuts the battered wooden door of his bedroom behind him, Eames raises his head in silent greeting, a languorously lopsided grin spreading over his face and softening each feature as it goes, pure anticipation.

(Thank God, thank all the gods that there are in this world that Yusuf is allowed to go there with him.)

"You do nothing but sleep, how is that? It seems every time I notice you, you have been napping again," he teases, smiling at the expressive yawn which now threatens to split Eames's jaw, "even Nefertiti manages an hour of activity each day, and she is a _cat_. A _narcoleptic_ cat. Anyway," he breezes into the room now, carrying the two bowls aloft like a Parisian waiter, "time to eat."

He crouches down beside Eames and sets down the bowls (dogbowls, naturally). One contains fresh water, the other, strips of the lightly spiced homecooked lamb Eames adores, the seasoning a family secret - but Eames is unimpressed. He butts his head into Yusuf's thigh with a soft whine, his eyes wide and pleading up at him.

"Mmm? What do you want, I wonder?"

He pets at the boyishly close-cropped hair at Eames's nape soothingly, scratching a little more vigorously the very second a happy little moan seeps out of him. Eames nuzzles into his outstretched arm as he pets, following the limb which is delivering so much pleasure

_(attention)_

rolling his head to expose the delicious line of his throat for more. Smiling like a spellbound fool, Yusuf finds himself shoving the bowls to the side just so he can sit down fully on the floorboards and open his arms for his beautiful pet to scrabble into.

Eames piles into his lap.

"That's it," he softly mutters up at him, once they are both comfortable. "Come here, my good boy, there's a good boy -" as he strokes down the corded power of naked sides, lets his greedy hands knead a flank and hip as smooth as any coat, and Eames just groans against his ear in delight, stirring and writhing in his clasp only so the grip will tighten around him. Eames's skin burns, his weight gaspingly heavy over Yusuf's thighs, heavy as his gaze when for some reason Yusuf pulls back to stare-

_those blue-grey eyes, gazing down at him are so drunk with love and lust that he reels a little, forgets his part_

\- but the moment stretches like a band and breaks as their eyes unlock.

Eames's new game is the quick sudden nips of his teeth on Yusuf's throat, the bristles coating his jaw scraping at Yusuf's skin not-quite-painfully. Growling, enjoying himself. If he possessed a tail right now, how it would wag.

"That's it, I can't take anymore," breathes Yusuf, because he _can't_ , and he's happy to pretend it's the sharp nimble canines worrying at his neck he means when he says that, "up, boy, come on. Up."

Wet tongue licks up the side of his face in response.

(His pet is amazingly undisciplined sometimes. There's only so much training Yusuf can cram into the working day, after all, between compounds and research and overseeing the dream den.)

Slapping his pup soundly on the hindquarters seems to crack it, though. An affronted huff of breath and Eames springs off Yusuf's thighs to rest on his haunches on the rug. Yusuf takes him in hungrily.

He is so golden-pink and smooth, ripping with animal strength, his excitement broadcast in his heaving sides and the length of his saluting, flushed erection, which rises up between his splayed thighs invitingly...begging to be pleasured. Yusuf must have him, he must. If he does not he will die.

Lust flares like a fire as he yanks the shiny black leather collar out of his pocket, smoothing it reverentially, the smell and feel of it in his hands nearly too much, always and only leather, thick in its drugging effect. He climbs to his feet so he can press the collar around Eames's thick throat. The anticipation is nearly half the pleasure: Eames's tilted head, sacrificing his neck to the tight black constriction of his collar, the buckle closing at his nape with dark finality, and then the lead, which Yusuf plucks from its hanging vigil over the bedstead and snaps into the D-ring at his puppy's throat. There. Much better. No animal as beautiful as this one should be allowed to roam free, even behind closed doors.

_Mmmngh_ , moans Eames, pulling against the lead as Yusuf backs away still holding it, in order to take in the full effect. Eames is picking a badly-timed moment to be mutinous - he has teased his master long enough, there are consequences for this kind of thing. He should be thankful enough he won't ever be neutered, disobedient big beast that he is.

"Bad!" Yusuf declares, tugging on the lead to discourage his sulky-eyed pup's chewing at it. "Bad boy. I've half a mind to muzzle you."

_Don't you dare,_ his pup seems to mock-growl.

_I wish you would,_ say his pup's widening eyes.

On lazy, predatory paws comes his boy to the bed.

Clambering up onto it with a shove to the rump and a harsh directive, he pauses atop the mattress to be admired, before neatly rolling onto his back, paws up, bent legs spread. Spread for his master.

His tongue, which never lolls but peeks from his mouth, it flicks out to wet that budding, lush lower lip in a pink, soft little swipe. One lick.

Two.

"Oh, _Christ_." Yusuf hears his own groan.

He yanks hard on the lead just to soak up Eames's yelp. Almost vaults onto the bed, (strength of said bed -and his own knees- be damned) scrambles over Eames, already tearing at his half-open shirt in a fever. Clothes never rip quickly enough. Not for this, curse buttons. Bugger zips.

His puppy just smiles up at him, lashes hooding fond eyes, refusing to-

_break character_

help him. _A muzzle, for that fat mouth,_ he thinks helplessly, staring down at it as he strips himself, imagines Eames's gagged whimpers as he's teased and groped. Imagine it, so sinful. What Eames does to him, time and again. What he makes him want to do.

At last he is as bare as his puppy, and they're both panting. Eames's nakedness feels unbelievable pressing up against his own as he sinks down to cover Eames's body. Grabbing at the back of Eames's head, he pulls him towards him and swoops down on his mouth in a storm of passionate possession and love, the taste of joy as thick in Eames's trembling mouth as in his own, a whimper bubbling in Eames's throat only to drown in the sweeping wave of Yusuf's tongue, the suckling hunger of their crushing mouths. Kiss for kiss for kiss, offered and taken in the circling dance that nobody else can dance with him so beautifully. _dear god_ , he gasps in the gap between, awareness only now beginning to bloom at how hot and thick Eames's prick feels stabbing and jostling against his own. Eames's long strong arms snap around him like sides of a exquisite, breathing vice, legs gaping so Yusuf can be pulled more firmly into the heat of Eames's embrace.

In a dazed expanse of seconds he manages to rip mouth, arm away, (it almost physically hurts) to retrieve the lubricant from his trouser pocket. So shaken, he nearly drops it to the floor, for he's at the stage where his need disables and weakens his reflexes. All that is left is a fevered tunnel-vision.

He works off the lid, squeezes the sticky grease onto his fingers, slicking every digit with speedy thoroughness. Eames is watching earnestly, pupils dilating in lust. His breath pants in and out of parted lips stained crimson with the nips of Yusuf's teeth.

"R-right, get your legs apart. Spread them for me, quickly."

Eames nods at him so frantically it seems his head might snap off the stalk of his neck. Those muscular, hefty legs catapult apart for him, baring his straining cock and his full, no-doubt aching testicles, but that isn't what Yusuf seeks.

Taking hold of one strong thigh to bend it back, he brings his slicked hand to the freshly exposed tiny opening between Eames's buttocks...strokes the hot skin there with just a dab of his finger. Gauging.

"NNNNGH!" whines Eames, suddenly squirming so eagerly at the prospect of being thoroughly fingered his thigh slips from Yusuf's grip and Yusuf's forced to smack him on the hip to calm his excitable pup down.

"Stay. STAY, Eames. You'll get what you want if you behave..."

Returning to the delicious bundle of nerve endings, Yusuf rubs at the rim in the slow, lazy circles calculated to drive his boy steadily insane, sweeps of his thumb, around and around and around in a circle of tormenting pleasure. Eames, trying to follow the painting fingertip with his hips, almost bends himself in half, desperate little _Nn Nn Nnnn_ sounds chasing each stroke. Precome is pearling at the tip of Eames's neglected prick, inviting a mouth, but Yusuf decides not to multi-task.

Not yet, anyway.

He presses harder at the doughnut of tight muscle, almost-penetrating, teasing with it until he hears the raw sob that no heart could ignore. Only pure puppy stubbornness on Eames's part preventing the use of words.

"Shh, here we go..." murmurs Yusuf. He pushes more firmly at Eames's hole with his index until the relaxing muscles spread to admit him. Guiding one stiff digit up into Eames, squeezing heat swallowing up his finger, it's always an appetiser for things to come. If only his fingers were erogenous zones. But Eames sighs happily, eyes shutting... so, patiently, Yusuf fingers him for a few moments in pistoning twisting strokes.

He alternates speeds, half-dragging his finger in and out to catch on the stretched rim, grazing his knuckles against sensitive nerves. Eames is melting under his hands, mouth as slack and moist as his opening is rapidly becoming. His cheeks are so ridiculously flushed he might be a cherub in one of those paintings he's stolen. Another finger, pushing up alongside the first only compounds the effect. The effect is all Yusuf has ever cared about. Eames fizzes like acid when Yusuf crooks his fingers against the bump of his prostate. His cock bounces, the sight of which makes Yusuf's own prick twitch in a chain reaction of empathy. Three fingers follow, then eventually four. By which time, Yusuf has decided if he has to kneel between Eames's thighs for one more minute while his fingers penetrate Eames's body and his penis does _not_ , he may spontaneously combust from the sheer frustration.

"That's enough. ENOUGH, Eames," Eames is trying to screw himself on Yusuf's slowly withdrawing fingers, whining as though it's fingers he actually wants. At other times Yusuf's dragged it out for hours and inevitably will again, drowning his receptive pup in strokes as slow as a low-tide to the rhythm of secret gasps - but not now. He has to claim.

"Roll, boy."

Eames does. Once the muscle of his back is on display and his shoulders, tight with anticipation, Yusuf presses a final kiss to his spine. For a moment he stalls to smear the remaining lubricant all over his erection. Squeezes his own flesh with a gasp at the tight, almost numbing ache of neglected arousal. Then he rises up on his knees behind Eames, stroking Eames's hip as he presses over his back.

He guides his cock to the welcomingly hot little entrance, biting his lip at Eames's sigh as he rubs his cockhead there, then...in a series of slowed firm pushes and pauses he sinks deep inside. So hot, burning hot. The sticky hot clench of Eames's body around him unmans him completely and he thrusts hard, suckling at one sweat-slick shoulder just to drown his groans. Too much, the feel of him, it can never be enough. Eames bucks up beneath him, a breathless gasp of ' _Yusuf_ ' chasing the rocking of their bodies together, and Yusuf loses it.

Like his name sobbed by his lover is the breaking dam which unleashes everything within him he drives into Eames, reaches round to pump Eames's cock in one sticky hand, until Eames is shuddering in his arms and Yusuf's palm slicks with the stain of Eames's release. His own climax follows seconds later, sharp and sudden. He bites out Eames's name as he washes his insides with his come. He collapses on top of Eames, pillowing his head on Eames tattooed chest.

For long, long moments they simply lie there together, breathing gradually slowing to a more civilised rhythm. He strokes Eames's hair gently, then reaches blearily up to the collar still fastened around Eames's throat and unbuckles it, tosses it off the side of the bed.

He's too tired now, too weary with aftershocks to say anything at all, no matter how trivial.

"I love you," mumbles Eames into his curls, stroking a hand down the length of Yusuf's spine.

By the time Yusuf has mustered the breath to echo his words, Eames has fallen asleep.


End file.
